


It's Just A Job

by bunnypower236



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, Action, Adventure, Drama, M/M, Romance, Star Trek - Freeform, Star Trek TOS, TOS, m/m - Freeform, mercenary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnypower236/pseuds/bunnypower236
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk is a mercenary, Spock is an investigative journalist who sticks his nose out a little too far and Spock's dad, Sarek, happens to be the shady dealer that brings the two together. AU Spirk</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Client

Sarek sat in a large faux leather chair amongst neatly stacked and arranged paperwork. Currently, the man was not occupied with the work strewn about his pristine, oak desk but was instead leaning forward ever so slightly on said desk and staring at his hands which were steepled in contemplation. Had the Vulcan been sitting anywhere else, it would be easy to mistake his rigid, perfect posture with a statue; the plaque at the end of the desk reading ‘ _Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan’_ seemed more like a display description than the title of the stoic man.

The small metal box with a large black speaker placed near Sarek’s nameplate suddenly began wailing. A crisp, unaccented, female voice calmly told him, “Ambassador Sarek, sir, your 10 o’clock has arrived. Shall I buzz him in?”

Sarek’s calculating, brown eyes flicked towards the voice and, after a moment, he inclined his head despite his secretary’s inability to see the action. “Yes, thank you Darleen.” He intoned, casting a hand back to quickly smooth his unruly – for a Vulcan – black hair into place.

About a minute later a human came waltzing in like he owned the place. He had unkempt blonde hair that stuck up in odd places and striking blue eyes as light as the sky and as challenging as storm clouds. He wore a heavy black and gold battle suit common to spacers and mercenaries but there was little doubt he was from the latter group if his empty weapon holsters were any indication. Sarek raised an eyebrow but did not comment, quietly pleased that this merc had enough sense not to challenge his no weapons while conferring rule, and indicated the chair placed across from his desk. The mercenary caught his eye and nodded his assent; he was across the room and sitting in the chair in two quick strides. He didn’t move his head, but Sarek knew by the way his striking blue eyes cast about the room that he was taking in his surroundings. No doubt making sure there wasn’t an ambush waiting in the wide, spacious room. After a moment he seemed to relax in the chair provided for him, satisfied that no one would come bursting through the large window wall behind Sarek, or popping up from behind his desk with a gun in hand.

The blonde shifted and regarded the Vulcan before him, “Jim Kirk at your service, _Ambassador.”_ He said the title with relish, like he was pleased to have such a high profile client and yet not at all surprised to have snagged one. He obviously held himself in high regard. “I must say, sir, few clients of mine go higher than the first petty rungs of the political ladder. Even fewer are Vulcans.” He let loose a crooked smile, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t at first think, _still_ think, that this is some kind of joke.”

Sarek propped his arms on his desk and folded his hands to give himself a chin rest. While this was obviously a casual posture, the ridged perfection still managed to unnerve Kirk slightly. “I assure you Mr. Kirk I do not…” He paused, as if the word he were about to utter was not one he’d choose for himself, “…‘ _joke’_ ; this is a legitimate inquiry on my behalf. I indeed have an assignment should I choose you are the correct candidate.”

“Hm… I saw that.” Kirk pulled a small data P.A.D.D. from what seemed like thin air and read something off it, “Says here that you wanted an _interview_ for a job that would be discussed if I passed a test?” He looked up at the Vulcan from beneath thick lashes, “Look, I’ve dealt with shady and weird dealings before but _this_? I know Vulcans are secretive but…” He cast a quick hand through his hair and leveled Sarek with a no bullshit look, “I’ll tell you right now that if it wasn’t for the credit amount you’re offering I wouldn’t have even bothered to see you.”

“I do not understand.” Sarek’s eyebrow quirked up quickly but his face remained impassive and unreadable. “Several of your… ”Again Sarek chose his words carefully, yet the pause only added to the elegance of his speech, “... _colleges_ have declined to meet with me precisely because I have not offered enough credits.”

Kirk suddenly let loose a laugh, startling Sarek yet the only indication he was surprised shown by another quirked brow. “That’s because my ‘ _colleges’_ ” he air quoted the word ‘colleges’ and said it with derision, “are goddamn morons. Hell I bet you’re offering enough to retire off of.”

“Please explain Mr. Kirk.” Sarek inclined his head and made a sweeping gesture with his hands, that only made Jim’s smile widen, showing his sharp, pearly white teeth.

Bingo. Kirk had figured as much. So this was the test. He crossed his arms and went on with no small amount of arrogance. “A thousand credits? That’s chump change – and for the Vulcan Ambassador? Well, you could drop a fifty times that and not even blink. So I got thinking, no… _professional_ such as myself is going to waste the time for you to give us a bullshit interview _and_ test for a measly thousand credits and everybody knows it, _especially_ your type. Cold, calculating… hell you and I both know you’d have to drop a 100k just to keep the media from this story, even if it was complete bullshit like helping you find your lost Sehlat.” He sat back, crossing his arms and leveling the Vulcan with his gaze, “So I got to thinking, what if it’s a consultation fee? What if, like the job, the price is only going to be discussed with the person who gets it? Makes sense, can’t have the media know you’re willing to shell out big bucks to the unsavory types like myself for some mystery job. Whatever this is, it’s big. You’re up to something _Ambassador._ Hell it’s not my job to pry, and whatever it is I really don’t want to know. All I know is you’re offering big bucks for this,” He leaned forward, conspiratorially, “And I know I want _in_.”

Jim could have sworn he saw Sarek’s lip twitch but it was probably just a trick of the light. Vulcans don’t _smile_. Never-the-less, the Ambassador stood gracefully with a pleased air about him. He adjusted the hem of his black, gold lined robe; custom of all Vulcan diplomats and proceeded towards the door. “Follow me.” He said calmly before passing through the door, not bothering to check if his guest would follow, he knew he would.

Jim held his tongue longer than Sarek believed he would, allowing them to exit the embassy and enter Sarek’s hovercraft, before he finally asked, “Alright, so where are we going?”

“I know of a private restaurant where we would be more suited to discuss this topic at length; you have yet to engage in your afternoon nourishment, correct?”  

“Lunch?!” The human balked, “You’re taking me to lunch? What for?”

“Correct and I believe you already know the answer to your inquiry but I shall reiterate if you so wish.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa _wait._ You mean I passed? I got the job?”

Sarek glanced at him with his peripherals, “If you choose to accept, yes.”

Jim was practically ready to scream with joy, of _course_ he’d accept. It didn’t matter what the job was, he knew in his gut it would pay better than any job he’d ever had _and_ if he did good he could almost count on word getting out to the other diplomats. This was the big leagues. But he couldn’t seem too eager; he had to play it cool. “Ok, so say I do accept. What’s the job in a nutshell? Pay range?”

“I wish for you to relocate someone from the gamma quadrant to Vulcan. Flat rate is five hundred; double that if you persuade them to agree to an offer of mine.”

“Thousand?” Jim asked trying not to let his disappointment show. 500,000 credits was nothing to sneeze at, especially for the cakewalk a kidnapping usually is, but he’d be lying if he weren’t expecting something more.

“Million.” Sarek clarified primly, turning his head slightly to signal and change lanes. Kirk couldn’t have been more grateful that the Vulcan had to look away at that moment – he doubted the slack jaw, wide-eyed expression he was no doubt sporting would’ve been very professional.

“I see…” He said rather lamely, and tried to clear his throat. “Like I said. I want in.”

“Good.” The Ambassador replied, turning into a parking lot, “Considering we have arrived.” 


	2. The Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk is a mercenary, Spock is an investigative journalist who sticks his nose out a little too far and Spock's dad, Sarek, happens to be the shady dealer that brings the two together. AU Spirk

“You’re kidding me.” Jim flopped back in his chair, the manila folder he’d been handed landing on the table with a ‘ _plaf_ ’ of air.

“I believe I already assured you that I am indeed serious.” Sarek replied with a raised eyebrow.

“No no. I got that.” Jim replied looking down at the assignment papers with a mix of trepidation and excitement. The job was easy enough but what really rattled him was… “Your son, huh? Do I get to know why you want me abducting your flesh and blood?”

“Certainly. He has always been a rather rebellious child but after his mother’s death he became inconsolable. She was human and despite my best efforts it seems he has inherited her mannerisms more than mine.”

“So he’s acting too human for your tastes?” Jim grinned and Sarek narrowed his eyes.

“Negative. Amanda was more than just a mere human. What you and many outsiders fail to see is that Spock is full Vulcan, whatever his bloodline. He was raised on Vulcan, taught our ways and has been accepted into our society – an impressive accomplishment considering his mixed heritage. However, when Amanda died…” Sarek slightly shook his head at the absurdity of it all, “He declined an all inclusive scholarship to the Vulcan Academy of Science to run away to Earth and earn a two year degree in _journalism_. My son seems to believe he can uncover the truth behind Amanda’s death and will not accept the unfortunate facts; she was caught in a stray phaser fire during the Romulan War. You see Amanda also was a journalist, I met her at a press conference between several other Ambassadors and myself… she simply refused to believe the answers I gave, answers I could not change, and later cornered me in a hallway.” Here Sarek’s cold, dark eyes took on a far-off look, and for a moment their frigid depths turned to a beautiful melted chocolate. It only lasted a second before the Vulcan pulled himself back, shutting everything out, “She was killed; it was an unfortunate accident not murder. She knew exactly what she was getting into when she chose to unretire and cover the war. My son refuses to believe the logic of this fact and has begun an emotional spiral downwards. I fear if I allow him to coddle his emotions much longer I will lose him. Therefore, I would like you to show him how dangerous his path has become – take him away from the fantasy he has made in the gamma quadrant and return him to Vulcan only once he seems changed by the experience. Make him see that the world is not some rosy Terran drama vid and that there will be no retribution for Amanda’s death. Spock cannot retain his self-centered way of thought and I want you to help him change it by any means necessary.”

Typical family dispute, Vulcan style. Spock wasn’t living up to daddy dearest’s expectations, so daddy was going to ground him or whatever. Seemed a little extreme but made sense. Being a parent’s a bitch, even for Vulcans it seemed and while Kirk didn’t agree with overbearing parents, especially when the kid had moved out, he wasn’t about to turn down 500 million smackers. “Ok, that makes sense.” He said conversationally “What I want to know is what you mean by the limitations over here.” Kirk opened the folder and pointed to a piece of synthetic paper, still disbelieving that Sarek had given him actual paperwork to sign instead of a P.A.D.D, “Right here, it says, ‘The contacted party shall in no way cause sustained injuries to the neutral party that are but not limited to; life threatening, causing permanent damage, leaving visible scars when fully clothed in typical attire, or could otherwise permanently damage or kill the neutral party.” Kirk looked up at his client, “Are you telling me I have full liberty with your son to use as much force as I want as long as I don’t paralyze or kill him?”

“Or leave visible markings, essentially yes. I want Spock to know exactly what he enlisted in when he chose to play detective.” Sarek gazed back with impossibly unconcerned eyes. “If possible, I would also like him to believe that he has stumbled upon a gang related dispute and that is why you are taking him.”

Jesus Christ! This was the guy’s _son_ for crying out loud! And the son of an Ambassador at that – shouldn’t he just get a slap on the wrists and a brand new sports hovercraft or something? Jim knew he’d never understand the ritzy type but now he was beginning to wonder if this was just a Vulcan thing, or a Sarek thing, regardless he knew he didn’t wanna fuck manipulative bastard sitting calmly in front of him as if he was discussing the food. Kirk grabbed his cup and took a quick swig of his juice, the whole damn restaurant had been vegetarian – not that he really minded – and here they were calmly discussing his job in _plain sight_ at this little restaurant after their meal; a job about abducting and possible brutalizing the Ambassador’s son. Clearly Sarek owned the place or at least the people here and his influence was apparent.

Oh yeah. Jim Kirk did _not_ have any plans to fuck with Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan.

 _Ever_.

“Alright fair enough.” Jim tried not to let it show how uncomfortable he was becoming with this job. Something wasn’t adding up. Instead he said, “Ok, if I want that bonus, what? All I gotta do is make Spock agree to go to the Vulcan Academy of Science?”

“You also must convince him to abandon his journalism career completely and to not leave the planet until he has graduated with high honors. You also cannot reveal that I am involved.”

“I see.” Kirk fiddled with the fork in front of him that the waitress had forgotten to take when she cleared the plates. Clearly Sarek was planning his assumed ‘uninvolved’ status as a ploy to manipulate his son into believing his father helped him escape the band of ‘ruthless’ mercenaries who would kidnap him. While Sarek couldn’t exactly write it in the paperwork, Kirk got the heavy suspicion that it was his job to do something that made Spock so grateful for his father’s ‘rescue’ that he’d do anything for him – including giving up his career to pursue science at the academy. He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair and licked his lips, preparing to go on as if Sarek’s request was nothing unusual, “I also can’t help but notice the destination you put is just ‘Gamma Quadrant’. You do know there are, like, three solar systems and a couple space stations out there right?”

“Indeed I do. Spock and I have not been in touch recently. I know his last location was somewhere in the Gamma Quadrant but I do not know where or if he remained there. I last spoke to him approximately 3.17 Terran months ago.”

Jim stared at Sarek for a second, “You do realize it could take me a month or more just to _find_ him with that type of info right? What, he’s missing?”

“In a sense, that is correct. I trust, however, that you will be able to find him in a timely manner. I am willing to fund all expenses necessary for this assignment in addition to your payment.” Sarek pulled a small green card from his pocket and handed it to Jim. “The full list of approved expenses can be found in your contract.”

“Holy shit, is this?” He looked at the Vulcan who merely nodded. Jim took a second to clear his throat and not appear too eager that Sarek just gave him a _fucking green card_ to use while on contract. He focused on the idea of combing the gamma quadrant. There were several other gangs who worked out of that area but the Black Suns were the ones who ruled it. If possible, he didn’t exactly want to mess with another mercenary group. “Anything else I should know? Like is Spock already in deep shit and do I have to contend with the Suns to get him back? Because if I have to do _anything_ not stated in this contract, you _do know_ I’ll keep a running tab based on any danger to myself or my crew, right?”

“I am well aware and do not foresee any complications. However, I may remind you that keeping my son alive _is_ in your contract and that any danger incurred protecting him is well within your duties. If you have any specific qualms during the job, you may contact me.” Sarek tapped one long, green tinged finger to the top of the page where his contact information was listed. Jim couldn’t help but notice his nails were beautifully maintained and his cuticles perfectly cut.

“Alright.” Jim stretched his arms, clearly done with this bizarre conversation. Bones would have a field day with this one.

“One more thing Mr. Kirk.” Sarek paused and Kirk eyed him warily, “I must remind that keeping my son uninformed of our ‘involvement’ is of the utmost importance and is your top priority. Do I make my intentions clear?”

“Transparently, sir.” Jim let vaguely strained grin as he got to his feet, eager to leave the Vulcan behind. “I’ll keep in touch with you Ambassador. Thanks for the lunch.”

Sarek nodded but did not rise to escort his guest out. They both knew that an Ambassador couldn’t give Jim a lift to his next destination – not that he wanted a lift either way. The whole conversation with Sarek had left him on high guard and he fingered his weapon hoisters nervously, double-checking that he’d indeed picked up his guns before getting in the hover car.

With a mock salute to his client, Kirk turned and waltzed out of the restaurant. He went right and walked down the desolate streets for about a half-mile until he came to transport pod, the city’s form of public transportation. Jim looked over the banged up metal tube, it looked like a spherical, sideways phone booth. After he confirmed that it was an older model (no new, up to code pod machine would ever take him where he wanted to go), he pulled out his communicator.

“This has better be good Jim.” Came a gruff, irritable voice.

“Hey Bones, just calling to see if you’d like to do some shopping? The usual place.” Jim called back cheerfully, not at all put off by his friend.

After a pause Bones’ voice came back over the COM, “Be there in 10.” And then the line went dead.

Whistling softly to himself, the blonde pulled out his ID card with its mercenary pass chip embedded in the side, and swiped it over the pod unit. Not even a second later a new pod came whizzing up the tube and opened it’s side for Jim to climb into it. It was about as large as a hovercraft and could carry four passengers of varying size. Inside the pod Jim swiped his card once more and punched in a number on the panel. With a mechanical processing sound the vehicle accepted his number, shut the doors and chirped, _“Destination accepted. Next stop, District 12. Black Market and Freelancers.”_

 

***

Leonard McCoy was a gruff, irritable man at the best of times. At five feet ten inches with dark brown eyes and hair, he wasn’t exactly a head turner, even amongst other humans, so in the rainbow slew of the black market the unassuming southern doctor all but vanished. That is, until he opened his mouth. It didn’t matter that the cry of outrage wasn’t in Terran, Kirk knew that voice anywhere and he began trying to squeeze through the sea of people all the faster. When Kirk finally found him he was amazed to find that not only had the doctor’s ‘conversation’ carried well over two blocks, but he was still holding it. He could barely see his friend’s head poking up over the small crowd in gathering in front of the stall. Man, did McCoy know how to make a spectacle of himself.

“ _Nuq 'oH veQ_?” McCoy was standing in front of an older Klingon who stood at least a foot taller and probably had two hundred pounds on the doctor, shaking his fist and pointing at something in a rage.

The Klingon, seemingly unaffected by McCoy’s heckling calmly crossed his arms and shrugged, “Hergh. QaQ laHlIj.”

“Q- _QaQ laHlIj_?” McCoy spluttered, obviously enraged, his southern accent started to come out with a vengeance, warping the Klingon dialect to the point it made Kirk’s skin crawl. He had to get over there fast. “SoH chay' _witchdoctors_ ghaj nuvpu' je? 'oH veQ! Qo'noS Hergh _barbarians_!”

“ _Barbarians_? nuvpu' ngIl tIch SoH?” Oh great. Now the Klingon had uncrossed his arms and was yelling back at McCoy.

“Mamej latlh ghoS _veQ_ ngev ain't poHlIj!” The doctor spat back with such venom Kirk was certain he could make a sailor blush from tone alone. Definitely time to intervene before he had to clean his friend up off the pavement. 

 _“ToH SoH_!” The Klingon slammed his fists upon the table, any lesser man would have backed off then, but Kirk could see McCoy tuning out the Klingon and preparing his own rebuttal. “ghor jIH-”

“Whoooooa! Whoa!” Kirk had finally managed to push back the two Orions blocking his path and jump to McCoy’s aid. The doctor looked like he wanted to say something to the blonde but Jim gave his shoulder a friendly, and vaugly painful squeeze, and turned to the large Klingon to smooth things over before he could rip them apart. “LUQ! jIQoS umqu' ghot ghaH 'ach ghaH botlhDaq DaneH'a'? qatlh poH waste? SoH legh vaj HoS be qul SoH laH reH naQmey pagh; neH strongest puq qaSnISbej SIQ mate!” The Klingon seemed to brighten at that compliment but he couldn’t think of much else to say. He knew his Klingon needed work, so before he could make a fatal grammatical mistake Kirk quickly bid the vendor good day and began dragging Bones through the crowd with him cursing and grumbling the whole way.

They managed to make it three blocks before the doctor managed to wrestle out of Kirk’s grasp, spouting southern curses. The blonde whirled on him immediately, “ _What_ was that Bones? You know a lot of people think shopping is _fun_ and _relaxing_ , I’m glad to know it get’s you in the mood to take on Klingons!!”

“He was selling run of the mill _herbs_ Jim, _herbs!_ ” Bones threw his arms into the air in exasperation, as if this fact explained itself and Krik should also be enraged. “He was calling it _medicine_! The nerve! What is this the dark ages?! He didn’t even try and make a salve or _anything_ outta them! Told me I could make _tea._ I’m a doctor not a goddamn _barista_!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to get medicine from a Klingon?” Kirk crossed his arms, his anger waning as he became somewhat bemused at the situation, “After all, they _are_ a warlike race that typically leaves their wounded behind.”

 _“Well forgive me for trying._ ” The brunette retorted, his accent coming out a bit thicker, “I’ll have you know that no-good Andorian told me the Klingon had better medicine. I just didn’t know ‘better’ meant ‘what passes for’ down in these slums.” He made an irritated noise and glared at Kirk, “Why am I here again?”

“To hold my hand so I don’t get scared.” Jim grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. McCoy just rolled his eyes. “Come on.” He turned around and waved at his dubious friend to follow, “I got a job to tell you about.”

“Hmph. Better be good.” McCoy gripped softly, but fell in step behind Kirk all the same.

They wandered about the twisted remains of old stalls and vendors that had been converted to make the black market.  A myriad of colors blurred by in the forms of shouting Andorians, Orions, Klingons and a dozen other species who’d made the Interstellar Space Station their home. Kirk pushed past the colorful wares and the screeching hagglers, and rounded the corner into a tavern adorn in the style of an old Terran Western film. The excitement of bandits of the wild west proved to be hugely popular with the off planet mercenaries and even several Terrans who frequented the Black Market to find their local watering hole.

 _The Lone Ranger_ was everything you’d expect from a wild western themed bar located in the 23 rd century black market. The bar was slightly run down, the waitresses wore historically inaccurate, more ‘exotic’ cowgirl and barmaid outfits loosely based on Terran Western expansion and there was a dead animal head hanging off of nearly every available surface. The tables were old, shoddy looking wood, although whether it was done on purpose for décor or to save a buck no one really knew. A gruff older Andorian played ‘The Entertainer’ over red boots and under a wide, red brimmed hat that clashed with his blue skin so badly it almost distracted from the sour keys his clumsy fingers kept stumbling over.

Kirk had never been a huge fan of the place; his love of historic films and their hilariously bad graphics almost made him angry at all the inaccuracies, but he was too embarrassed to point it out to Bones and make much of a fuss. He didn’t want to seem like a nerd. Besides, the doctor always seemed to like visiting the place; he loved the mint juleps made here more than any other bar on the Space Dock.  

They took a seat in the corner, as far away from the piano player as possible, and flagged down a waitress. As soon as they’d successfully ordered a Julep and a Romulan Ale Kirk turned to McCoy with a smirk on his face and settled his elbows on the table so he could lean forward and cradle his head with a rather mischievous look.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” McCoy knew that look of Kirk’s and he knew he’d save himself a lot of trouble if he asked properly immediately so Kirk get the bragging out of his system and get to the important details. “What _marvelous_ job,no doubt brought upon by sheer luck, have you snagged?”

“Why Bones, I’m wounded. You of all people should know you’ve got an _amazing_ Captain.” He shrugged, still wearing that irritating smile, “It’s no wonder we’ve shot up the ladder given our good reputation.”

“And what reputation would that be?” McCoy asked casually, crossing his arms and leaning back into his seat, “Don’t tell me there’s finally a market for breaking client rules and luck based success.”

Kirk frowned, feigning hurt, “You know, half the time I wonder why I keep you around.”

“Funny, half the time I wonder the same thing about you.” The doctor shrugged and smiled, “But to answer your question, I’d imagine it has something to do with my delightful commentary and first-class ability to keep you alive when you stick your nose down the wrong fox-hole.”

“Well, what other reason could there be?” Jim shrugged, also smiling.

It was at this time the waitress returned and Kirk was able to get a good look at her, or more her _assets_ , when she set their drinks down. As soon as the girl walked away, he let loose a coy smile coupled with eyes so lecherous McCoy had to look away with pink cheeks. “No.” The man said gruffly, “Keep it in your pants and leave that poor girl out of this conversation with your speculation.” He took a sip of his mint Julep and kept his eyes averted.

“Yeah, _speculation.”_ Kirk put his hands up an inch in front of his chest and deliberately gave them an imaginary jiggle at the word ‘speculation’, waggling his eyebrows in a way he knew his friend hated.

McCoy set the drink down and cast a stern look at his friend. “You catch another case of Orian syphilis and you won’t be smiling much when your genitals turn to jelly because your only doctor refused to treat it.”

“Whu-” Bright, blue eyes widened so comically McCoy was certain he’d be choking on Mint Julep had he taken another sip. Jim leaned in close, obviously embarrassed and hissed, “Below the belt, Bones. It was one time, you _promised_ not to bring it up again.”

“Whispering Jim? She’s on the other side of the bar, you that worried about your chances?” McCoy cast him a bemused look, “Or you just worried about your rep? Good thing she doesn’t have free access to your medical logs like someone I know. Hoo-boy, can’t imagine the case of blue balls a tiny slip up of _that_ would give you.” He took another sip of Julep, this time a long, satisfied draught.

“You wouldn’t.”

McCoy just shrugged, bemused. The alarming speed with which Kirk changed subjects gave him a giddy sense of satisfaction, or maybe that was just the alcohol.

“Maybe we should focus on the job.”

“Maybe we should.” The doctor replied noncommittally, clearly enjoying his drink. Kirk had yet to touch his.

“Well, we’ll need to get our warp drives repaired and the hull inspected, it looks like we’ll be heading out into deep space for a bit.”

“Mhmm… and why would that be?”

Kirk twisted his finger and with a deep breath began to tell McCoy about their new assignment, omitting the exact details of the who and where until he knew the southerner wasn’t going to throw a hissy fit – the possibility of running into other mercs, hunting down and kidnapping people and trying to manipulate their lives wasn’t exactly his cup of tea. Especially after their last botched assignment. Sometimes Kirk wondered if his friend was too soft for the life they’d chosen.

“Look it’s not going to be a big deal or anything, think of the pay off!”

Bones was looking at his second drink with a rather sour expression. They’d been arguing the finer points long enough for him to flag down another waitress and get a top-off. “Look Jim, it sounds great, it does, but I don’t know how I feel about it with your record.” He shook his head, his eyes taking on a far off look, “You know that girl will never walk again right?”

“Bones. We’ve been over this. It wasn’t our fault and we needed the money.” He was trying to be sympathetic, really he was, but Jim was tired of needing to convince the doctor of nearly every assignment they took on. He knew Bones would come regardless, but the doctor had a knack for making feel guilty about the jobs he took. It was just business.  “I know this isn’t your thing, you’d rather do some package delivery or guard work – I get that, I do. But think of the _payment_ , Bones. Five hundred _million._ Even if we can’t convince this kid to change his career do you know what we could _do_ with that kind of money?”

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask. Who the hell throws down that kind of cash just to get junior home? Who exactly is our client?” McCoy asked suspiciously.

“That’s not important right now.” Kirk was suddenly very interested in his ale. He then stared up at the doctor through long lashes, cobalt eyes suddenly devoid of humor. “I need to know if you’re in this or not.”

“Hmph. You know it makes me more nervous when you say crap like that.” McCoy growled, taking another swig of his drink. “Almost like I can’t walk away if I agree to this – make me wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into…”

“Bones, come _on_.” Kirk was suddenly on the edge of his seat, “What if I gave you my word that this job is _only_ a pick up and drop off? That, if everything goes according to plan, not _only_ will we have completed the easiest, safest job of our careers but we’d be able to retire if we wanted after it?”

“‘If everything goes according to plan…’” The brunette shook his head humorlessly, “When you’re the one saying that crap it makes my skin itch. Makes me think the exact _opposite_ is gunna happen – hell sounds like you’re propositioning me for goddamn _war_.”

“Come on Bones. Don’t be like that! You in or out?”

McCoy looked at his friend, the stupid amount of excitement there and he caved. No amount of cynicism in the world could protect him when Jim looked at him like that with those baby blues.

“Ok, ok, _fine._ I’m in.” Bones sighed and ran a hand through his hair, almost immediately regretting his decision. “I suppose _someone_ has to cover your ass.” He griped.

“You won’t regret this Bones!!” Jim crowed gleefully, clinking their glasses and downing half his drink in celebration.

“Ok, you’ve successfully coerced me into this madness. Now tell me the details.” He looked at his friend and sat back again, crossing his arms. “So all we’ve got to do is hunt down this guy’s son and take him back home? Nothing unusual I suppose, hell it’s a lot tamer than a couple of relocation’s we’ve done.” He mused.

‘Relocations’ was the word Bones liked to use for kidnappings. He wasn’t fond of the more dangerous jobs they had and never liked to believe they were hurting anyone, which for the most part was true. No one who was uninvolved or otherwise accidentally caught up in their jobs ever got seriously hurt, it was their on-going policy to only open up a can of whoop-ass on other mercs or people who could defend themselves. Still, kidnappings always left a sort of foul taste in Bones’ mouth, and for good reason.  The doctor glared at Kirk, almost daring him to make this job any less tasteful now that he was honor bound to follow through, “So who’s the kid?”

Kirk licked his lips rather nervously; knowing no amount of sugar-coating was going to make this any better. “His name’s Spock.”

“Spock, huh? Odd name, only heard it once before, but it can’t be the guy I’m thinking of. Like you could swing a celebrity client like that.” McCoy chuckled and went to take another sip of his drink when he paused, the drink an inch from his mouth as he took in the incredibly guilty expression on his companion’s face. This was probably the first time Jim had ever made him agree to a mission _before_ telling him about the clients. He thought it might’ve been because the job was worth 500 million credits, but what if it was because of the people involved? “Kirk…” He said very carefully, eyes hooded with a mixed emotion.

Kirk tried his best not to recoil and failed. “Um… yeah?”

“Please, please, _please_ tell me that the name ‘Spock’ is just a coincidence. Tell me you didn’t agree to relocate the goddamn _Vulcan Ambassador’s_ kid.”

They stared at each other for a long moment and Kirk could feel his poker face slipping. When Bones said it like that it made the whole thing feel a million times worse. Suddenly no amount of promised credits could make Kirk willing to face his friend’s wrath.

He offered a weak, pathetic smile, “And what would you say if I did?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Bones supposedly know bits and pieces of Vulcan and other Federation languages so I figured it makes sense if they were mercenaries they’d know Klingon. So yeah :P Also I find the idea of Bone’s with a southern accent while making those guttural sounds all over the place is hilarious XD I dunno but ill placed southern in any alien language cracks me up – in fact McCoy ruining Vulcan is prob one of my favorite scenes in ‘Spock’s World’ lol Anyway, hope y’all enjoyed! Please R&R if you liked or have suggestions! :D  
> Klingon:  
> 1) What is this garbage?  
> 2) Medicine. It’s good quality.  
> 1) Good quality? What do you people still have witchdoctors too? It’s garbage! Medicine for barbarians!  
> 2) Barbarians? You dare insult my people?!  
> 1) You ain’t got much else going for you selling this garbage!  
> 2) Why you! I snap your skinny-  
> 3) Whoooooa! Whoa! Sorry about him but do you want to fight him? Why waste your time? You look so strong I’m sure no one could ever match you; your mate must bear only the strongest children!


	3. The Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk is a mercenary, Spock is an investigative journalist who sticks his nose out a little too far and Spock's dad, Sarek, happens to be the shady dealer that brings the two together. AU Spirk

"I  _still_  don't like it," McCoy recanted for about the hundredth time. "The whole thing's making me itch."

They were currently waiting for the ship in one of the better repair docks on the station. They'd been hiding beneath the bulkheads of the  _Enterprise_  a Romulan class bird of war that Jim owned and never really explained how he managed to snag in the first place. It was an old, pre-war model and only had room for a scarce fifteen passengers, practically unheard of in a starship, and it was currently understaffed with only the bare essential positions filled. The doctor loved to remind his Captain that 'God didn't give ya two legs to lop one off' – it was the Southerner's colorful way of saying, if you don't get a full crew karma's gunna leave you dead in space. Kirk would shrug off the issue whenever it was brought up, he said they had luck to spare and didn't get in enough tussles to justify hiring more crew – not that they could afford it.

Kirk rolled his eyes and snarked, " _Everything_  makes you itch.  _Especially_  when Vulcans are involved."

Then he ran a hand across one of the bulkheads on the underbelly of his ship – which they were currently hiding behind so no one would hear their conversation. Apparently the guy in charge of repairing their ship had gone to lunch and until he came back it couldn't be cleared for release – Bones saw this as a great opportunity to remind his friend that he thought he was an idiot, and a gullible one at that.

" _I'm_  not the one allergic to everything under the sun, but hell, Jim, you're the professional! How can this not fray your wit, just a bit?" He shook his head as if it was painfully obvious, "The Ambassador is going to give you 500  _million_  to kidnap his own son? Double that if you get him to give up journalism for science? Why? This sounds like a damn set up!" He paused and took a moment to blow a strand of his auburn hair out of his eyes. It was starting to get a little shaggy, and he hadn't had time to cut it before their last mission. Perhaps he'd look into it before they left the station tomorrow morning. "There's something he's not telling you – I didn't even know any Vulcans worked in the gamma quadrant!"

"Technically they don't," Jim smiled sheepishly.

Bones glared. "There's another catch?"

"Well. Not really a  _catch_ more like a  _find_." Jim shrugged nonchalantly.

One look at Bones proved that trying to play it cool was the wrong move. The surgeon stared at him like he'd grown another head and didn't approve of the new look.

"What." He said, a statement not a question the held a tone similar to the 'I think you're a moron' variety.

Kirk sighed,"Spock's missing." He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged, "It's nothing crazy, he went to gamma a few months back to investigate a story and just disappeared. He's probably just hiding or something. Either way, we gotta smoke him out."

Bones made an irritated noise in his throat. "Great. He's  _hiding_." He made little air quotes when he said 'hiding'. "You think a  _journalist_ is just hiding out in one of the crime capitals of the galaxy and _not_ sniffing around for stories." He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Jim  _the look._ The one that reminded him that Bones had a daughter until his crazy ex-wife stole custody; the disappointed father look. Sometimes it was hard to believe the doctor was a friend and not his mother. "You realized that we'll probably have to go against the Suns or some crap to get him back. We should know better than to snoop around their turf!"

"500  _million_  Bones." Jim defended, " _No one_ would know better than that."

"You can keep counting un-hatched chicks but  _I_ know better. I bet we get double crossed in the end."

"Doubt it Bones, the guy's pretty serious." And then the blonde pulled the little green plastic square he'd received from Sarek out of his pocket and flashed his friend.

Bone's eyes nearly popped out of his head, "Is  _that_?"

"Yup. Green Card. Not only is this a limitless cash cow but I checked it, Diplomatic immunity –  _Vulcan_  diplomatic immunity and access to all restricted sectors until this job is done." Jim smiled his famous, overtly cocky smile, "I'm telling you; this is the real deal!"

" _Vulcan_ diplomatic immunity?! Wuh-  _how!?_ " Bones stared at Jim for a long while, " _Who else knows about this?!"_

"Oh calm down Bones, I'm sure no one else. He  _is_  the Ambassador, pretty sure he can do whatever the fuck he wants."

"You remember that line when we get the noose for this."

"Oh  _come on_  man, will you just relax!? I  _got_ this."

"Excuse me!" A new voice suddenly entered their conversation putting both mercs on high alert. There didn't seem to be anyone, until the man suddenly popped up from behind one of the  _Enterprise's_ bulkheads. "Ah didn't mean tae sneak up on ye but ah thought ye might wantae know yer ship's raring tae go 'n' purring lik' a kitten." The man, obviously Scottish, had piercing blue eyes that seemed to be laughing. Obviously he'd heard at least part of their little chat. Shit.

Bones retained his wit first and muttered sarcastically, "Yeah you  _got_ this."

Kirk elbowed his friend and quickly turned to address the stranger. "Thanks for letting us know, we'll be right over to sort out the papers."

Instead of leaving, the Scotsman smiled and crossed his arms, appraising the two with those twinkling eyes. He was of average height, unassuming appearance and was covered from head to foot in grease. A rather unattractive green beanie hid most of his auburn hair and a clashing orange scarf hung about his neck and over his uniform, "Ye know," he said, giving the ship a gentle, fond tap, "Thare are things ye cuid do wi' a beauty lik' this that aren't exactly regulation, if ye git mah meaning." He smiled, "In fact, most guid things seem tae come  _aff th' radar._ "

"I'm not sure I follow exactly." Kirk said slowly, shifting uncomfortably. He found himself oddly charmed by the Scot's demeanor but still wary. After all, he had no idea how much the man knew of their job.

Bones was not as pleased or charmed in the least, however, and seemed to sour at the newcomer's approach. "What's there to follow?" He asked gruffly, glaring at the man in front of them but speaking to Kirk. "He's obviously buttering you up to get something."

"Auch! Ah'm wounded!" The man put a hand over his heart as if injured; "Where ah come from we lik' tae greet each other afore accusing thaim o' swindling."

Kirk laughed, "Well we wouldn't want to seem rude." He stuck out his hand, "I'm James Kirk and this ray of sunshine is Leonard McCoy." He ignored McCoy's less than friendly grunt of greeting and pressed, "It's nice to meet you mister…?"

"Th' name's Montgomery Scott, Scotty if ye lik', 'n' i'm th' Chief Engineer round thaese parts." He accepted Kirk's hand and gave it an enthusiastic shake.

"Scotty." The blonde acknowledged with a smile, "Thank you for all you've done for our ship."

"'Twas nuthin'. Was a privilege tae be workin' on such a beaut."

"A privilege you'd like to continue, I bet." McCoy said with a huff, Kirk shot him a look but didn't scold. He was usually rights and the doctor had a knack for sniffing out people who would use them for something. It was one of the many reasons Kirk liked having him around, he had a hard time telling whom to trust and whom not to until phasers were shot.

"Auck. Got me name and know your fishing for the good stuff?" Scotty didn't seem put off in the least by Bones' comment, in fact, he seemed amused by it. "Alright, alright, you got me. I happened to overheard part of that lovely little conversation of yours and can't help but notice you're sailing in to rough waters with no corks to damn the boat!"  
"I, um… so you heard that did you?" Kirk asked.

"Yes, I did, the whole lot in fact. You probably shouldn't be whispering so loud in the open." He shrugged, "Of course it's none of my business, I know, but I've always been an opportunist you see?"

Kirk sighed, suddenly wishing he'd listened to Bones. Now a part of his lovely profit was about to be swiped away by this grease covered imp to keep him quiet. "Ok, ok, so how much did you want?"

"What?" The Engineer looked confused for a moment, maybe baffled by the American-English, but after a second clarity shone in his blue eyes. "Ah. Right. Ye'v got me wrong, ah don't want a piece o' th' cut or nuthin', Ah'm wantin' pairt o` yer crew. Ye don't have tae worry aboot me not haudin' mah weight neither, Ah'm th' best engineer this pairt o' th' galaxy."

"What?" Kirk blinked more than a little surprised. What he thought was going to be a shake down was quickly sounding like a job interview as the overly-enthusiastic Scott tried to sell himself on why he'd be a good crewmate. It was oddly endearing.

"You've got to be kidding me." Bones, still cynical as ever, crossed his arms in disbelief.

"Na see, here's th' thing. Ah don't care aboot that Vulcan but ah do care that ye'v got an open engineering position, a beaut o' a ship 'n' a bang-up guid reason tae keep everybody in one piece during th' journey. 'N' Ah'm aboot th' best shot ye got at that."

"So, you just want to join our crew?" Jim clarified.

"Aye."

Bones still wasn't convinced and asked suspiciously, "If you're as good an engineer as you claim, why not join the fleet or something, I'm sure they'd be better than our hunk of junk."

Before Kirk could jump to his pride and joy's aid, Scotty was defending the ship, " _Piece o' junk?_ Are ye  _blind_ , man? She's a Bird o' War; ye know how rare thaese babies have become efter we won th' Romulan war? They're unheard o'! 'N' she's in great shape, di-lithium processing core wi' a warp core generator that cuid easily push 8 wi' th' right adjustments. Ah'v ne'er seen nuthin' lik' her!" He crossed his arms and looked rather sheepish then, "Also me 'n' th' fleet don't see eye tae eye no more."

That was all Kirk needed to hear. This man loved his ship about as much as he did, and rightly so, she was one of the best spacecrafts out there! He didn't need to hear any more, he found himself charmed and his pride properly stroked. He knew in his gut that Scotty would be all he promised and more, a great addition to the team. "You're hired." He beamed.

Bones spluttered, " _Wh-_  we need to talk about thi-"

"Nothing to talk about." Jim cut in, "I'm the Captain, we do need an Engineer,  _you_ keep telling me to staff the ship and Scotty here seems to know what he's talking about." He flashed his friend a sickly sweet, yet incredibly smug little smirk and clapped him on the shoulder, taking the opportunity to jokingly whisper, "Besides, I'd keep him around just to have back up every time you call my baby a 'pile of rust and death'." He then turned to the newest addition of his crew and said, "All right, go get whatever you need. Ship leaves at 0800 tomorrow morning, here's my COM number if you get lost."

The Scotsman beamed and gave an eager nod, "Aye, aye, Captain!"

**Heeeeeeeeeeere's SCOTTY! :D Haha anyway, our favorite Scotsman joins the crew! Whoo! As always please review if you like and I'm open to any suggestions! :D**

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	4. The Target

It was a dark night on Tantalus; it was the kind of night where any lonely lights left wandering about would be quickly swallowed by the thick blackness and howling winds. Not a star shone in the sky, a thick cloud cover caused from a particularly humid day blotting them out along with the moon. On such a night, most creatures would not risk wandering about, especially with many dangerous nocturnal predators about.

A lone figure decided to face the danger. They were swaddled in a thick black cloak that they held tightly about their body, preventing the greedy winds from ripping it away. Their progress was slow, made slower by the shifting sands of the desert underfoot.

A sharp, ominous cry cut across the night sky and the figure paused, pulling down his hood and listening intently. It was too dark to properly make out his face, but his ilk was easily recognizable. His skin ashen, his vertical neck ridges receding to the crown of his head and, of course, an inverted tear-shaped ridge could be made out in the center of his head.

The man, unmistakably Cardassian, took one final sweeping look about the desert, trying to discern the source of the chilling cry as he rubbed at his arms to keep the cold at bay. Finally, assured he would not run across one of the planet’s many dangerous hunters, he continued his slow trek across the sands.

After a long, inscrutable amount of time, the Cardassian male found himself no longer struggling to cross shifting sands and instead stood atop solid ground as the desert dissolved into a stone outcropping. The outcropping jutted over a valley and gave a view of all the lay around and beneath it. Nestled in the crook of the valley floor stood a small town, surrounded by a great stonewall to protect equally from raiders as from desert winds and predators.

Near the very edge of the cliff, right before the rocky became crumbly and unstable, stood a house. The residence was made from a great many carved stones, held together by mud and closed off by a large wooden plank that was its door. There was only one window, which looked over the valley, but a small peephole carved into the door made up for a lack of view in front.

The man walked up to the door, paused, and hit the door with the flat of his hand twice. A faint voice called from inside, presumably asking who stood at their door front, and the Cardassian pulled his hood from his face and looked at the peephole.

Inside the house, a mousy skinned woman peered through the door. She too, was Cardassian, and at the sight of the man outside, her cheeks flushed a vague brown and she hurriedly ran into a small room where a vanity and mirror sat. She peeked into the mirror, admiring herself and called out, “Just a minute!”

She fluffed her hair once, and applied a tinged blue cream to the inside of the inverted teardrop ridge upon her forehead. Then she turned her head and smeared the stuff along the third rung of her neck ridge on either side, highlighting them. She turned her head to and fro, admiring herself from a few angles, and was startled by another sharp rap at the door. “Coming!” She cried and took one last glance at herself, satisfied, and went to go let her guest in. She had barely opened the door before the man barged inside, shivering.

“Kasella.” The man greeted tersely, pushing past the woman and quickly walking into the warmer foyer adorned with a couch, coffee table, lit fireplace and a small bar. He rubbed his arms quickly and complained, “It is even colder here than I remember, I feared I might succumb to the freeze.”

“Alket.” Kasella returned his short greeting and replied coolly, “If you are unable to face such moderate discomfort, you are welcome to stay the night, should you so wish.”

He merely grunted and flopped upon her couch, which appeared to be made of furs. She followed him into the foyer but passed the seat herself. Instead, she went to the small bar near the fireplace in front of Alket, quickly pouring herself two fingers of a dark, strong smelling alcohol and a pulling out a glass for her guest. “Two or three fingers?” She asked.

Alket glanced over at the woman, admiring her silhouette, and smiled, “Make it a whole fist.”

She glanced over at him and nodded, angling her head so the lights shone off the blue on her forehead ridges. “Why not?” She said and filled the glass. She brought it over to him and he thanked her, taking a small sip.

Once Kasella was sure her guest found the drink agreeable, she sat down on the couch with him and together they enjoyed their drinks for a time, basking in the glow of the fireplace and engaging in casual debate.

Alket seemed to believe her position on top of the cliff was precarious and too far from help. Kasella assured him she built the house herself and was pleased with its structure; she also was capable of fending for herself. They both agreed, however, that Kasella deserved to live on higher ground than the lowly mercenaries and scum that lived in the outpost at the bottom of the valley and they both had a good laugh over that.

After a time, they both turned their attention to more serious things. “So do you have it?” Alket asked of Kasella, casting his eyes about nervously. It was a pointless gesture, no one could see them anyway, but some people couldn’t help their nerves.

Kasella smiled at his fidgeting, endeared by it, and said, “Of course I do. Shipment came in yesterday.”

She got up and went into the back room where the house’s lone window took over most of the room. It was facing the precarious cliff, and was supposed to only be there for the view, she couldn’t have know that someone was using the viewing pane to watch her every move.

She struck one of the floorboards with her heel and then pulled it away. Underneath was a small little hole filled with various white parcels. She picked one up and quickly hid the rest back under the floor. It didn’t really matter.

Her silent guest had already seen.

Oblivious to the looming viewer, Kasella took her small parcel back into the foyer where Alket was waiting. She presented him the package with a flourish, “Premium cut, fresh from the Lunar mines.”

Alket smiled, “Thank you.” He told her sincerely, letting their fingers linger on each other a little too long as he took the package from her. He then gave her a credit chip, holding her gaze and intently brushing her fingers this time as the chip exchanged hands.

Kasella broke eye contact first, obviously flustered, “Aren’t you going to try it before you pay me?” She asked.

“No. I trust you.” He said.

Kasella didn’t have much of a response for that, but the way she said ‘You’re a fool’ sounded a little too pleased to be a real reprimand. Then, knowing he couldn’t stay, she led him to the door and began arguing with him about the proper way to deliver the package. It never ceased to amaze Alket how bold Kasella was with her flirtations, that she could seemingly engage him in an argument over anything.

He allowed her to rant and rave and she held the door open and ushered him out as if disgusted. He did his part too and they spent a time arguing in the eave of her doorway. He savored every bit of their debate, loving every moment of it. But all too soon, the courting came to an end, the argument won by Kasella, and yet neither made a move to leave the other.

Kasella knew Alket found her desirable, and she him. It was no surprise that she was caught gazing at him a little too long, savoring the heavyset ridges on his brow and the even wider ridges on his neck. He smiled at her, and she looked away, playful, as if scandalized and embarrassed.

Alket took a step from her, as if to leave, and she followed him outside into the chill, waiting for their customary goodbye.

But tonight, the Cardassian male would not just make a joke and disappear into the night. Tonight, he would finally make his intentions know. He looked at Kasella, impossibly beautiful and wearing just the right shade of blue upon her ridges to entice and make him wish he had the privilege to touch.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or his desire had become too strong, but Alket lingered at the doorway, eyeing those beautiful ridges, and finally found himself bold enough to try.

He brought his hand up to cup Kasella’s cheek, “I shall miss you.” He said, the parting phrase familiar and ritual but somehow now forbidden and intimate. His finger wandering lower to skim over the sensitive ridge’s of the female’s neck. _His_ female. Or so Alket hoped.

He was emboldened when Kasella did not protest, the beautiful Cardassian’s breath hitching in her throat in an enticing way. She then leaned into the touch, gently rubbing his wrist in a casual familial kiss; though this time it felt much more tantalizing than the friendly hand-touch normally did. This time it _meant_ something, and Alket felt his heart swell with pride.  

“Alket…” She began, her voice breathy.

“Yes?” He asked desperately, pulling her hand to his face and leaning into the touch. This was it, he had made his intent known, now she would either rebuff or accept him.

“I-”

But she never got to finish. Her eyes rolled up in her head and her warm, beautiful body suddenly fell limp against him, draining of color. Horrified, Alket instinctive tightened his arms around her, not yet realizing he was only saving a corpse from its fall. His eyes flickered down to a small brown spot blossoming across her bosom and soaking her chest. A dim realization sparked in his steel eyes, but before he could process it, he felt something hit him in his clavicle and again in his chest.

He felt no pain, only shock as adrenaline frantically shot off in his veins, and Alket found himself stumbling back. He tripped and both he and the corpse of his would-be love fell to ground. In his last few hazy moments of consciousness he felt at his wounds and found them sticky with blood.

Alket closed his eyes, slowly processing what had happened, the female Cardassian’s lifeless body dragging him into the reality of his death.

He had been so close.

He had finally confessed to Kasella.

Perhaps this was the Gods’ cruel way of saving him the pain of rejection from his one great love.

Alket did not despair, but merely smiled, and chose to use his last breath to utter a finale chuckle of disbelief.

Less than 200 meters away, the culprit watched the heartbreaking scene unfold through the scope of his gun atop a small bluff. He had picked his spot well, the angle gave him perfect view of both the widow and the door – his targets had never stood a chance.

The blood shed had not fazed the sniper and he seemed more concerned by the cold than the Cardassian corpses. He sat back and set his gun down once he was sure his targets were dead, and then nonchalantly pulled his hood down and wrapped his scarf tighter about his face and neck. He then pulled the hood back up and breathed quickly into his gloved hands, rubbing them together for warmth.

A chilling cry, not unlike the one Alket had heard earlier and much closer, came up from the desert. The sniper quickly picked up his gun and used his scope to scout the area but the winds picked up the desert sands and dashed them about with enough ferocity he could see no further than a kilometer in either direction.

He would just have to chance it.

The man pulled his heavy cloak tighter about him and holstered his gun on his back before he began the slow trek down the bluff. He may have only been a few hundred meters from his target, but he had chosen a well-hidden vantage point and it would take a while to navigate down and back onto the paths the led to the residence. A tragic fact now, considering he would have to beat a predator to the tantalizing smell of fresh blood if he wanted a chance to loot the corpses.

It took a little more than ten minutes to reach their bodies, in part because he had stopped to check the area once more before finishing his approach.

The sniper looked down at the corpses with a vague remorse and pulled his gun from his back. He used the barrel of his gun to knock the small package from one of the corpses hands; a male Cardassian. He then reached down to retrieve it, closing the eyes of the bodies as he did so, his posture stiff. It was fortunate that their bodies had already cooled and the final frantic moments of the synapses firing off had concluded.

He hated accidentally absorbing fragments of those he killed, their last moments, their dreams…regrets… – it made it harder to accept that they needed to die.

And yet, even knowing the necessity, he found himself unable to linger by the slain couple much longer. He entered the house quickly, the female had already shown him where he had to go.

He entered the small house, passing the foyer with a now abandoned fire in the fireplace, and hurried to the back room. There he pried up the floorboards and discovered its hidden content - hundreds of little packages like the one he’d lifted out front.

He pulled out a small tricorders to inspect the parcels and found it was indeed what he’d been looking for – drugs.

The tiny little house was a front and, from the looks of it, a pretty darn successful one. There appeared to be approximately fifty-three point two four _kilos_ of the stuff, separated and packaged in varying sizes of parcel, and it was most certainly high quality.

He didn’t need the tricorders to confirm which drug he’d uncovered.

_Somnium Aeternus_ – a dangerous neurotoxin that, in small quantities, acted as a heavy stimulant with hallucinatory qualities. Just the tiniest dose of the drug and the effects could last for days or weeks at a time. It was highly addictive and a single use could cause severe dependence.

How unsightly.

A grim determination about him, the sniper quickly unsheathed a small dagger from his boot and began slashing the packages to ensure no dealer would be able to find and sell the drugs again.

Once unsealed and in contact with oxygen, the drug would very quickly become tainted, fatal and loose all the qualities that made it appealing in a matter of minutes. Most users didn’t need to worry because they hardly allowed it to touch air for more than a few seconds before use but in the amount of time it would take for someone to find this stash… well, no one would use it if they were smart and wanted to live. However, the drugs could still serve as important evidence, should the right authorities be alerted to its presence…

It was grueling work to slash each and every package amassed in the tiny space. There must have been hundreds, and the sniper made sure to keep his scarf tight about his face as he tore into them, preventing himself from inhaling any of the white power that came gushing forth with each slash.

He’d been so set on the task that he hadn’t noticed he’d ripped open his gloves – he must’ve been gripping his dagger a little too tight, for a large gash crossed his right palm. Startled he yanked back his hand and tore off the ruined glove to inspect the wound and cursed softly.

He’d been careless.

His palm was sliced open, a deep green welling up in the wound and spilling about. He cursed again and clutched his hand to his chest to stem the bleeding, choosing to rip his scarf as makeshift bandages, heedless that such an act would leave his sensitive ears vulnerable to the winds.  

The quick patch job prevented more of his blood from spilling forth but the damage had already been done. His blood was about the drugs staining the white emerald in several places. If only he’d payed more attention or hadn’t cut such a sensitive area… but he couldn’t dwell on the past.

To do so would be illogical.

The facts were as such;

  1. He didn’t have enough time to ensure a clean job.
  2. He couldn’t leave emerald splotches all across the evidence, if he did people would connect the dots and know he’d been there and he would end up framed or dead; neither an appealing prospect.
  3. The job had become too risky to stay any longer.



The conclusion was simple; he had to cut his losses and get out of there.

He abandoned his task of slicing open the parcels and instead chose to root about the room for a scarce few moments to at least salvage his loss in part. He managed to find the Cardassian female’s record book, but didn’t have time to see what was in it – he could only hope it would be enough to incriminate her suppliers without the drugs as evidence. He stuffed the thing in his cloak, making sure his hood was in place and he had everything.

It wouldn’t do to leave something or be spotted leaving a crime scene.

With one last loathsome glance at the drug parcels, the man stood and left the back room. He then went to the foyer and pulled the fur blanket from the couch.

It was heavy and hard to move, but he managed to pull it partially into the fireplace and partially on top of the coffee table. Luckily, the fur seemed to be highly flammable, and lit like wildfire; he left the home assured it would be up in flames in a few minutes.

He very nearly tripped over the corpses on his way out the door and for a brief second after his stumble he thought of throwing them into the fire too. A piercing howl made up his mind however. It seemed he had taken far too long and the beast would be upon the bloodshed soon – besides, it would have been a poor decision to risk further injury to his hand and leave his blood about the outside where the fire could not sweep it away when he was certain the corpses would take care of themselves. At least, it was logical to assume they would, if the hungry predator coming towards them was any indication.

The clouds had begun to pass and the moon was staring to break through, illuminating everything. Including himself; the pale parlor of his skin, made paler by the green flush brought about his cheeks and uncovered tapered ears by the cold. His dark, brown eyes were as hard as flint and his adam’s apple wobbled a little when he swallowed, steeling his nerves.

The sniper took a moment to look around, despite the large, hungry mammal bearing down on him less than 300 meters away; he needed to take a moment to take in everything. What he had done to these people.

The soft light illuminated the pretty blue makeup on the Cardassian female, the attractive dark green, almost black cloak the male had worn to impress her, the soft smoldering of their house, up in flames because of him. Not that they had much use for it anymore.

The crackles of the fire sounded soft and muddled to his far off mind. He imagined the pair might have been involved sexually, or at least courting each other. He knew they were criminals and they’d paid for their crimes.

But who said it _had_ to be blood?

Did he have the right to make that call?

He couldn’t help but feel torn between knowing this had to be done and feeling disgusted that he’d actually _done_ it.

He snorted, softly.

Whomever said Vulcans didn’t feel was a fucking liar.

Or wishful thinkers.

With one last remorseful glance around him, knowing he’d already stayed too long, he pulled his cloak tighter about his body and adjusted his gun holster.

Then, Spock turned and fled into the night.

**Whoooooo!!! Spock is finally introduced!!! What will happen now hmmmm? And just what on Earth is he doing!? How does he fit into this all? And where is Kirk?? Tune in next time to find out!!! (I’m sorry it’s late and I just want to be that announcer with deep voice at the end of Pokemon #sorrynotsorry)**


End file.
